


Pick a Petal

by roswyrm



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Declarations Of Love, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Near Death Experiences, Oblivious, mutual idiots!!!, sasha's only really there for like a second at the end so i'm not tagging her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 18:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18452153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roswyrm/pseuds/roswyrm
Summary: It was just a slippery slope. Zolf couldn't handle Hamid saying he loved him, and it hurt.And then Hamid stopped, and it hurt worse.And then Zolf left, and Hamid probably never even thought about him, and that hurtmore.But he's back, now, and apparently, hearing Hamid tell literally everyone else he loves them and then purposefully skipping over Zolf is the worst. Slippery goddamn slope.It doesn't matter how many petals he picks off, or what they land on: Hamid loves him not.Hamid loves him.





	Pick a Petal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blacksatinpointeshoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacksatinpointeshoes/gifts).



> sequel to I Love You (He Loves Me Not) because i made myself and everyone else sad!! this got real long and tbh i'm just kinda rolling with it. the title is from Left Hand Free by alt-J which is a good song you should all listen to. Working Title: _this keeps happening_

Hamid forgets. It’s been months, and he’s gotten so settled into the new group’s new routine that Zolf being back doesn’t quite line up right in his brain. So he does what he always does: gives Azu a hug, lovingly flicks Grizzop in the forehead, (and gets smacked right back in the shoulder) and nods in Sasha’s general direction as he goes. He says, “Good night! I love you,” as he turns to go to bed. And almost runs into Zolf because Zolf is _here,_ now. Here again. Whichever. Hamid squeaks and scrambles backwards. “Oh! Sorry! I’ll just– um– good night, Zolf, I l– good night!” And then he scampers to his own room.

(He doesn’t know if Zolf still looks relieved. He doesn’t want to know; Hamid doesn’t think his heart could take it.)

(It doesn’t make sense, the way Hamid replays that brief second of accidental too-closeness over and over in his head. It doesn’t make any sense at all, the way his heart beats nearly out of his chest. Hamid decides not to worry about it and to just go to sleep.)  
\---  
It’s nice having Zolf back, of _course,_ it is, (Hamid felt his absence like a physical thing, crushing in on his heart) but Hamid’s gotten used to moving around where the cleric _(ex-cleric,_ Zolf said with a self-deprecating tilt to his lips that made Hamid’s own mouth twitch down with worry) should be and pretending not to notice the empty space. Zolf doesn’t even occupy the space Hamid leaves for him. He’s always just a bit farther away, and Hamid so desperately wants to grab him and pull him in and hold him close and prevent him from ever leaving again.

(The first time he found himself absentmindedly reaching for Zolf, Hamid yanked his hand back and shoved it into his pocket so quickly he accidentally punched himself in the thigh. He still has the bruise. He’s decided that as long as he keeps his hands in his pockets and his touchiness to himself, it’s not weird.)  
\---  
The kitchen is practically a minefield. Hamid has to whack Sasha’s hand with the spoon six times before shooing her out, and by then, she’s managed to sneak a third of the ingredients into her mouth. Hamid has to glare Grizzop into submission because cooking nine servings — ten servings, now that Zolf is back — takes _time,_ and _no,_ Grizzop cannot just eat it now, it has to be cooked first! Azu tries to help, but she can be distracting, and if Hamid burns dinner again, he might have a panic attack.

(“Here,” Hamid said firmly, “try.” Zolf opened his mouth to protest, but Hamid pouted and held the fork out a little more insistently. Zolf sighed and begrudgingly took the forkful of tomato. Hamid raised his eyebrows expectantly until Zolf took a bite. “Is it good?” Zolf made a face, and Hamid could feel his own hopeful expression falling. “Oh. Too much parsley?”

“Too much tomato,” Zolf answered.

Hamid stared incredulously. “You’re kidding.”

“They’re gross, no matter what you put on top of them.”

Hamid gaped at him. “Zolf, I love you—” his heart skipped a beat at that, but it always did, so Hamid didn’t think it was anything to be worried about— “but get the hell out.” Zolf laughed at that, big and open and bright, the happiest Hamid had seen him up close.

And Hamid’s chest still felt a bit disjointed until Zolf managed to say, “Love you too, Hamid,” through his delighted grin. It set Hamid’s heart beating on the right track again, and he smiled as he started serving the rest of the food.)

Zolf stays out of the kitchen, now, giving Hamid (more than enough) space. 

Hamid puts together Zolf’s plate without any tomatoes on the side.  
\---  
Hamid doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but Azu and Zolf are talking right outside of his door, and he can't get to sleep, (Hamid nearly said “I love you” again, and it’s been repeating, his embarrassment and aching sadness gaining more and more purchase every time he recalls the look on Zolf’s face) so there’s nothing else for him to do but listen. 

Azu asks, “Why not?”

Zolf huffs, making a very specific noise (it sounds a bit like steam venting) that means he’s frustrated but still going to answer the question. Hamid used to hear that noise all the time. Until Zolf left. “He’s just– he thinks we’re friends. And I don’t– I don’t care about him like that…” and then the sentence fades out as they walk further down the hall.

Oh.

That’s…

oh.

Hamid bites his lip in order not to let the tears suddenly welling up in his eyes spill over. He understands. Of course, he understands. Zolf didn’t feel comfortable even before he left, and Hamid’s been a bit weird to him since he’s gotten back, so it’s only understandable. But _hell_ if it doesn’t hurt. He thought they were friends, at least! He thought– but he was wrong. 

It’s fine. Everything’s fine. Hamid turns over in bed, and he’s fine.

He grabs his pillow and screams into it, the anger at Zolf for not flat out telling him, the hollow ache in his chest that he doesn’t want to look too closely into, and the sting of something like rejection flashing through his blood and forcing the sound out of his throat.

 _Now_ he’s fine.  
\---  
The hooded figures in the middle of the not-quite-temple give a shrieking, hissing laugh; they sound like a bunch of demonic tea kettles. And Hamid clutches at the wounds across his stomach and torso, panting. And Hamid has a hell of a lot of fury and hopelessness to get rid of. And Hamid _roars_ Dragonfire. 

The cultists duck; the support pillar behind them cracks, splinters, shatters. It falls on top of the cultists, trapping them. 

There’s a split second where Hamid thinks that maybe, just this once, the building won’t collapse on top of him.

And then the crack spreads up the wall, the ceiling, branching out and groaning.

(It’s a miracle Hamid hasn’t developed a fear of things collapsing on top of him and crushing him alive yet.)

The ceiling starts crumbling down around him, arcane flames licking up the cultist’s cloaks and filling the room with smoke and dragonfire. Grizzop starts running towards him, Azu manages to take a step, but Zolf is the one who snags him by the collar and starts pulling him out of the way. Dust and rubble coat the air around them, and Hamid chokes. He was prepared for this, he was _expecting_ this, but all of his plans go out the window when a particularly large piece of what used to be ceiling slams into his head, and then another into the base of his spine, and then his ribs, and the pain whites out his vision just before Hamid collapses forward.  
\---  
Hamid attempts to press closer to the heat source at his side.  
\---  
“…do you _mean…”_  
\---  
_“…matter!_ He’s—”  
“He’ll live until morning…”  
\---  
“I’m fine! He’s not even conscious…”  
\---  
“…look, I don’t want to…”  
\---  
“...like this either, but…”  
\---  
Hamid shifts away from the whatever-it-is that’s digging into his side and falls back into the darker-than-sleep.  
\---  
“…should go to bed, boss.”

Everything is so dark, but the pain is bright in his head and across his stomach. 

“I’m not… yeah. Alright.” It’s too loud, but there’s silence afterwards for a beat. Softer, “Good night, Hamid.” One of Hamid’s hands is warm. The silence stretches out so long and so dark. “I, uh—” Hamid’s hand is compressed, held too-tightly, warmed under something rough— “I love you. Just– won’t be able to say that, when you’re awake. Figured I’d tell you now.” 

His hand is cold.

He falls back into his dreamless too-darkness.  
\---  
Ow.

 _Ow,_ Hamid feels _awful._ He groans, gingerly feeling his face. There’s a large wound across his cheek that protests violently when he ghosts the pads of his fingers across it; Hamid hisses as he jerks his hand away. He blinks his eyes open, which is an entire process considering how tired he feels. He squints against the harsh sunlight just coming in through the blinds of his hotel room. His hotel room in Osaka, where no Hades cultists are. His hotel room in Osaka, a solid hour’s journey from the not-quite-temple Hamid fell unconscious in. He slowly pushes himself upright, his head pounding and his arms smarting and his stomach still bruised from the fight.

Clearly, this is just natural healing, instead of the magic he’s gotten used to. Gods, his head hurts. Did they just– was he just dumped in bed and left to heal overnight? There’s a reason for that. There must be. They probably ran out of spells. There’s no one in the room with him, which is– there should be someone. Not just because Hamid wants there to be, but because there _should_ be, because Hamid has hazy half-asleep recollections of someone holding his hand. Someone softly telling him that they love him.

Azu, probably.

Hamid winces when the largest slash across his stomach twinges painfully, and he slowly lies back down. There’s a chair next to his bed. Azu must have set it up, or maybe Grizzop, to keep watch. But there’s no one in it now, and Hamid sighs. It’s fine; they’re probably… if the sun is anything to go by, they’re probably still sleeping. Hamid’s stomach grumbles. _He_ wants to get breakfast. It’ll make him feel better if it doesn’t exacerbate the lump in his throat. Hamid closes his eyes again, intending to go back to sleep until someone heals him or tries to wake him up.  
\---  
Thin fingers press against the gash along Hamid’s cheek. Hamid hisses just as silver-green healing streaks through his bloodstream, the cut closing over and suturing itself up. Grizzop takes his hand away and asks, “You awake?” Hamid squints his eyes open. Grizzop doesn’t look gently concerned _(someone did, Hamid could hear it in their voice)_ but he does look a bit worried. Hamid rubs at his eyes, scrubbing away the sleep that had gathered there. “I can’t fix braindead, so don’t be braindead.” Hamid laughs and shakes his head.

It protests, Hamid feels nauseous, Hamid falls back into his pillow. “I’m fine,” he assures the paladin, and Grizzop huffs in relief.

“Good! I’ll go get you food, stay there, Azu’ll heal you the rest of the way.” He must see the look of confusion that flits across Hamid’s face because he explains, “I already used most of my healing on everyone else. It wasn’t a good fight for any of us, even if you got the worst of it. Also, the ceiling collapsing on us didn’t help. Azu almost had a panic attack, trapped under all that rubble.” Hamid winces.

He takes Grizzop’s hand and says, “Please tell her I’m sorry. A-and tell her that I love her, too. I was too out of it to say it myself.”

Grizzop’s ear flicks up. He squints at Hamid. “Azu didn’t say that while you were unconscious. When we got back here, she collapsed into bed. She only got up a few minutes ago.” Hamid furrows his brow. 

“Then who..?”

Grizzop shrugs, extracting his hand from Hamid’s grasp. “Zolf? Sasha had to drag him out of here to make him sleep.” He nods to the chair Hamid noticed earlier. “He sat there for hours. Yelled at me to fix you, got angry when I fixed him instead, apparently told you he loved you. Pretty sure Sasha said something about holding your hand?” Grizzop looks at him like he’s expecting Hamid to say something. Hamid gapes at him, lost for words, not knowing what he could _possibly_ say to that. There’s something he doesn’t recognise in Grizzop’s eyes when the paladin says leadingly, “Y’know. _Typical friend stuff.”_

Zolf _doesn’t care about him like that,_ doesn’t see him as a friend, Hamid heard him say it himself. But… “Yes, it is,” he agrees wonderingly. “I suppose I’d do the same, i-if the situation was the other way around.” If he weren’t sure Zolf would flinch back, Hamid would always be touching him, just to reassure himself that Zolf is really there. Grizzop stares incredulously, ears flickering about like they always do when he’s judging someone. Hamid asks, “What?” And it comes out a bit too defensive.

Grizzop clicks his tongue. “I love you, but you’re an idiot. Be back with breakfast!” Hamid sputters indignantly, but the door is already closed behind Grizzop, and the room is empty.

“Love you too,” Hamid grumbles to nobody.  
\---  
Azu sighs at him. Hamid doesn’t even know why; he hasn’t done anything! She sits at the edge of his bed and takes his hand in hers. The now-familiar feeling of Aphrodite’s healing diffuses from the contact, warming him through. “Grizzop said you weren’t using your common sense. Do you know why?” It’s a genuine question, but Hamid rather wishes it was rhetorical.

He shrugs, patting at the new scar on his cheek. “No,” he answers, “not really. He just pointed out that Zolf was being friendly while I was unconscious—” Azu’s eyebrows raise— “and when I agreed, he called me an idiot and then left.” Azu nods seriously.

“Hamid,” she says carefully, “if Sasha were knocked out, who do you think would be most worried about her?”

“You,” answers Hamid easily. Azu is many things, but subtle is not one of them. Sasha has yet to notice, though, so Hamid’s not going to say anything.

Azu nods. She looks embarrassed, but determined to see her point through. “Say I carried her to safety, disregarded my own health to make sure she was the first one healed, held her hand for hours waiting for her to wake up, and someone had to tell me to go to bed in order to make me leave her. If I told her that I loved her, would you think I meant it platonically?”

Hamid does not point out that she’s done almost all of those things, save the hand-holding. Hamid does not point out that Azu has actually cuddled Sasha while the rogue was unconscious. Hamid barely refrains from scoffing. “No, of course not. I’d assume you meant it romantically.” 

Azu stares at him expectantly.

(Hamid was the closest to Zolf when everything went wrong, so it’s not too much of a stretch to assume that Zolf carried him for a bit. Hamid remembers the anger in Zolf’s voice very, very vaguely, and Grizzop said he wanted Hamid healed instead of him. Hamid remembers a calloused hand holding his. Hamid faintly remembers someone telling Zolf to go to bed. Zolf had held his hand tighter and mumbled, “I love you” before he left.)

(Zolf said he doesn’t care about Hamid like that, but what if he meant that he cares about Hamid _more?)_

Something must change in his expression, because Azu nods slowly, like she wants to say _‘there_ we are, finally’ but is too polite. Hamid says, “Oh.” And then again, because it’s only just sinking in, _“Ohhhhhhh!”_ And then, “Wait, but I don’t like him back like that!”

Azu looks like she kind of wants to hit him. Lovingly, of course, (he’s seen the same frustrated exasperation in Grizzop’s eyes, though his usually have a little less softness to them) but Hamid doesn’t think he could handle _Azu_ cuffing him. Very, very carefully, Azu asks, “If you found out that– if _Sasha_ was in love with you—” Hamid’s nose wrinkles involuntarily— “how would you feel?” Azu takes his hand in hers, mindful of her size, mindful of his panicked claws.

Hamid cocks his head. “W-well, I suppose… a bit gross? I mean, she’s like a sister to me! I love her, obviously, but not like that.” He looks to Azu, and she nods approvingly, like he’s just got to keep going.

Hamid does not keep going. Azu gently prompts, “How do you feel about Zolf being in love with you?” Hamid nearly blurts out, _weird,_ but then he stops to think about it. How _does_ he feel about this? 

(If Hamid weren’t sure Zolf would flinch away, he’d always be holding him.)

There’s a fast-paced thudding in his chest.

(Tears welled up in Hamid’s eyes at the thought of Zolf not caring for him.)

His insides are tense, butterflies in his stomach.

(Hamid felt so wounded when he stopped being able to tell Zolf he loved him.)

There’s a glowing warmth in Hamid’s chest that he associates with Zolf, by now.

_Oh._

Azu laughs quietly at the dumbstruck (and slightly mortified because gods, how has he been this blind for this long?) expression on his face. “Azu,” Hamid tells her very, _very_ seriously, “you’re a saint, and I love you.”

She beams and squeezes his hand. “I love you too, Hamid. Should I go get Zolf?”

Hamid shakes his head. “No, no. I– I’ll go tell him myself.” Azu’s smile, if possible, gets bigger, and she stands up. She helps Hamid out of his bed, and there’s a little divine spark of _something_ that flashes from her hand into his back. He hopes it’s a tiny blessing of Aphrodite. 

He’s probably about to need it.  
\---  
Hamid knocks on Zolf’s door. “Zolf?” There’s a brief moment of rustling, and then the door jerks open, and Zolf is staring back at him. “Good morning,” Hamid says with a half-smile.

Zolf hugs him.

It’s clumsy, but Hamid wouldn’t have it any other way. Zolf holds him too tightly, and Hamid’s arms are trapped, and Hamid can’t quite breathe where he’s pressed against Zolf’s chest. “Morning,” Zolf answers (still crushing Hamid to him) like maybe the greeting will distract from the affection.

Hamid laughs and leans into the hug. “Gods, I love you,” he says. He’s said it so many times, but this is the first time he understands how much he means it. Zolf lets go, but Hamid can move his hands now, so he does. He wraps them around Zolf’s waist and hugs him back. “Really,” he murmurs, softer than before, “I really, _really_ love you.”

Zolf stiffly puts a hand on his back, just below his shoulders. “Right,” he answers, “I know.” 

Zolf’s voice only carries so much pained resignation because he thinks Hamid doesn’t mean it the same way. Probably. Almost certainly. Hamid draws back, and Zolf takes a too-quick step the other direction. His face is a mixture of concern and confusion and something Hamid can’t decipher, but not for lack of looking. “Did you know I’m _in_ love with you?” Hamid asks, hopeful, halfway-breathless.

Zolf blinks at him.

 _Please let Azu have been right, please let Azu have been right, please let this be a silence of surprise and not rejection._ “I think I have been for… um… I don’t know, how long, actually? I-I didn’t realise until about ten minutes ago.” Zolf doesn’t say anything, just stares at him in shock. Hamid’s confidence and certainty drop out from under him, and he chews on his lip anxiously.

“You,” says Zolf, “you what?”

 _Please, for the love of_ any god listening, _let Azu have been right._ Hamid repeats, “I love you?” It comes out like a question, so he tries again, “I’m in love with you.” He manages to say it firmly, brooking no argument, which is a minor miracle considering how unsteady he feels. (Oh, this is familiar. The first time Hamid said “I love you” to Zolf, he felt the exact same way, knees quivering under the sudden strain of holding himself up. Gods, did Hamid love him even then?) Zolf still doesn’t say anything. Hamid swallows, all of his anxiety coalescing in his throat, in his stomach, humming out of his fingertips. “I-I know I’ve said that before now, and I know you aren’t comf– but you don’t have to—” Zolf takes a step closer— “s-say it back, i-if you don’t want to.”

Zolf is very close, so that’s. Something. It makes Hamid’s heart buzz in his chest the same way it’s always done that when Zolf gets close to him. (How did Hamid not notice before Azu pointed it out to him?) “Then why’d you stop saying it?” Zolf demands, and there’s something like _hurt_ coiled inside of the syllables.

Hamid sputters, “You stopped first!” Zolf looks angry, or maybe just resigned, or maybe something else entirely that Hamid is too busy defending himself to decode. “I’d tell you I loved you, and you—” Zolf’s face sets, mouth pressing into a hard line and eyes filling with something like guilt— “you would do _that!_ That face right there! And you stopped saying it back, and I thought you’d stopped trusting that I wouldn’t hurt you, and I figured that _maybe_ if I stopped confronting you with it, you’d trust me again.”

“Hamid, if this is just your way of telling me that you _trust_ me—”

Hamid kisses him. 

He kind of misses, because even though he drags Zolf down by his shirt (soft and warm under his fingers) and stands up on his tiptoes, there’s still the added difficulty of Zolf being in the middle of an indignant sentence. Zolf does stop talking, though, and Hamid throws one arm around his neck in order to drag him closer and kiss him _properly._ Amazingly enough, Zolf goes, leaning down and kissing back, settling a hand on Hamid’s hip. 

(Oh, okay; Hamid’s thought about doing this a lot of times, though usually, he immediately quashed the thought and found a way to subtly avoid looking at Zolf until his blush faded. He should have done this earlier. Zolf is a good kisser. Or maybe Hamid’s just too enamoured to think otherwise.)

Hamid, somehow, after a significant amount of effort that he really ought to be applauded for, manages to drag himself back. He smiles up at Zolf, half giddy, half triumphant. Zolf stares at him before clearing his throat. “Okay,” he says awkwardly, “well. Guess we’re on the same page, this time.”

Hamid blinks up at him. “This time?”

“The first time you dragged me out of my own head to tell me you loved me, I thought we were dating for three weeks before I figured out you didn’t mean it like that.” Hamid’s eyes widen; this is a revelation for him. Zolf squints at him, mockery in the slant of his smile as he asks, “Did you not notice?”

(Zolf quietly interlaced their fingers underneath the dinner table.)  
(Hamid leaned his head on Zolf’s shoulder and Zolf didn’t flinch away.)  
(Zolf made sure to mumble something like “love you” when Hamid went to bed.)

Hamid doesn’t meet Zolf’s eyes, flushing with embarrassment. (Hamid may be good at strategy, but apparently, his emotional intelligence leaves a bit to be desired.) Zolf laughs, big and open and bright, the happiest Hamid has seen him up close. Hamid pouts, but he has to make a legitimate effort not to start giggling when Zolf tries to kiss him again. “No,” he says, turning his head so that Zolf kisses his cheek instead, “you can’t kiss me anymore, you’re making fun of me.”

Zolf runs a thumb along Hamid’s jaw before gently turning Hamid to look him in the eye. “But I love you,” he protests jokingly, and his smile almost hides the nervousness in his eyes.

Hamid sighs dramatically. _“Fine,”_ he relents through a grin bigger than he is, “but only because I love you, too.”  
\---  
(“Hamid?”  
“Hm?”  
“You’re alright. Like, proper, really– good? Y’know. For like. Talking, and stuff. And for me, you’re– you’re decent-ish, y’know? Like, useful? A-and—”  
“I love you too, Sasha.”  
“Wh– uh, _no,_ I didn’t– that’s _not_ what I said. I said you’re alright.”  
“Yes. Well, you’re also pretty alright.”  
“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Uh, but, s’not what I wanted to say.”  
“Oh? What was?”  
“Block off the hallway again, I’m gonna cut you. Or your boyfriend. Whoever’s closest.”  
“...ah.”)

**Author's Note:**

> FUCK YEAH FUNCTIONAL LESBIAN AZU TO THE RESCUE anyway im on tumblr @roswyrm hmu w/ prompts n shit!!!


End file.
